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Prologue - Nat

March

“What do you think?”

“You told Blake he was twenty-one.”

“He will be when you join the league.”

“Hmm…”

“Ignore his age, Nat. Concentrate on what’s important.”

“He’s good. Young. But good.” Good is an understatement. The kid was born to be a goalie. My eyes find Mason’s. “Really good. Really young.”

“You said that.” He laughs. “I think he’s your guy, but other teams have to be looking at him.”

“Of course they have.” My gaze moves back to the screen where the spliced together reel of Chase Hawkins saving goal after goal continues to play. “When the time is right, he’ll have his pick of teams.”

“Yeah, he will. But he’s a family guy.”

“What does that mean?” I watch another puck deflected with ease.

“He doesn’t party like the rest of his teammates. Doesn’t hook up with any girl that offers. From the info I have, he doesn’t date at all. His single focus is keeping his grades well above a pass and improving his skills on the ice.”

“Who’s feeding you the information?” The video plays on and it’s like watching a thirty-year-old veteran. The skills this kid has—and at nineteen he is a kid—are on par with any goalie currently playing in the league.

Hell, I’d go as far as saying he’s one of the best I’ve seen.

And I’ve seen a lot.

The last few years have been filled with watching hockey. Current players, retired players, college players. You name it, if they play hockey and are anywhere near being eligible to play professionally, I’ve watched them.

But this is the first time I’m seeing Chase Hawkins, and I don’t understand why. The kid should be on everyone’s radar. And maybe he is. Maybe there are eyes on him, watching and waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Like I said, he’s young, but not so young we can’t offer him a deal now. And if we do, he’s got time to grow—mature. The Rogues are more than a full season away from taking to the ice in the national league, he can continue to hone his skills in college, tick over a birthday—I glance at his stat sheet in front of me—two birthdays, before he joins the team for our first pre-season game.

“You want to meet with him?”

My gaze snaps to Mason’s. “Can you get me in without anyone knowing? The media frenzy hasn’t died down from the franchise announcement. Every move we make is being splashed across every media outlet in the country.”

“I can try. I know his dad, as well as his old coach. Might be able to get us a chat with one of them first. Off the record.”

“Do it. In person or video chat. No calls. I want to see their faces when we talk.” Pushing back my chair, I stand and point at the screen. “And send me that so I can show Walker and Blake.”

“Blake’s seen him play. She might remember him if you mention his name and St. Paul.”

“I’ll ask her.” Shouldering my bag, I head for the door.

“Before you go.”

I turn back to face Mason.

“I wasn’t sure when the four of you first talked about making a bid for a national franchise. I may have said some things I wish I hadn’t.”

He holds up a hand to ward off the comment burning my tongue and my lips twitch at his perceptiveness.

“But since then, every move you’ve made has been solid. Insightful. Strategic. You know what you’re doing and you’re building a good franchise, one a lot of players are putting their hand up for, and right now there’s little information out there about the team other than who owns it. I think—no, I know , the Rogues are going to be a Cup-winning team.”

“That’s the ultimate goal, but we’ll take goals scored in every game we play, win or lose. As long as we’re competitive in our first season, we can build from there.”

“I won’t offer to cross my fingers because I don’t think you need me to.”

“No. We don’t. You sure you don’t want a job?” I ask with a small smile. It’s been a running joke since the idea of KAW owning a hockey team was first floated.

“Can’t leave Cash.”

“I can understand that.” I wouldn’t expect him to leave his teenage son despite him no longer being with the boy’s mother. “But if that ever changes, give me a call.”